


Thump Thump

by kalewrites



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, F/M, Porn With Plot, Smut, bucky has a trust kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 17:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalewrites/pseuds/kalewrites
Summary: A frank conversation, or confession, between friends leads to something a little more. Okay, a lot more. Bucky is intrigued by one fantasy in particular.





	Thump Thump

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote and posted on Tumblr a while back. Posting on here to keep continuity.

“You mean choking?” Sam says, taking another swig of his beer, eyes a little wide.

 

You shrug, “Call it what you will, breathplay is on my list.” Nat nods like she agrees, tips her beer in mock salute and you know she gets it. There’s a fourth person at the table, one your brains making gestures towards whilst your eyes hide in the corner. You brave it, glance up to him and see the gaze- curious, thinking- see the slight upturn of his mouth, and sort of sigh in relief, but internally of course.

 

Sam can’t let it go, “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the appeal?” 

 

How did it get to this point? Who knows, really, it started innocently enough, drinks to celebrate a mission success, blow off a little steam and really, just an excuse to dress in something other than your suits. And here you were, discussing bucket lists and fuckit lists, heavy on the latter. It was interesting though, learning this different side to your colleagues, to him. Not that he’s said much to give him away, but still, he was here, participating... _ watching _ .  

 

You down the rest of your beer, the last third of it really, set the empty bottle down on the table and fix Sam with a look, “I don’t know, Sam, different things?” Bottom lip pulled in between your bottom teeth, your eyes gravitate towards him again, towards Bucky- poised and waiting- “Okay, first, the heightening of the senses, everything drilled right down to just your heartbeat, ya know? Just that sound and feeling filling up your head. It would intense. Every touch amplified.” You explain, getting sort of lost in the thought of it, “And then there's the surrender to it, just putting yourself is his hands, so to speak. The control. The  _ trust _ . It’s just...it’s layered.” 

 

You open yours eyes when you realise they’d drifted closed, Sams gaping a little but also nodding like he gets it now, Nat is smirking because she  _ knows  _ and Bucky, well, Bucky is staring intently at his beer, picking at the label like it's offended him but you see the ways his lips twist and the heat of it slides along your spine. Anticipation. 

 

The conversation moves on, spends some time on Sam’s crush on the engineering tech assigned to him, loops around Nats appreciation of the womans form and ends somewhere after 6th round of drinks when Nat drags you up to dance. Minutes melt into hours, the buzz wears off and your feet start to ache but you're having too much fun to really take notice. Hands find your waist, tug you back against a warm hard body and you go willingly, recognising the feel of him, the smell of his aftershave and the way he fits against you. 

 

“Keep thinking about earlier-” He says, lips pressed into your hair so that they’re a little muffled, “-shit, got me all sorts of twisted.” His teeth graze over your ear, the shiver that runs down your spine in response leaves nothing solid behind, all jelly and melting bones that forces him to support more of your weight. You make a soft, pleased sort of sound, half in agreement but more in question and he hears it, “Ready to get out of here?”

 

“Yeah.” Punched out and louder than you’d like but it does it’s job, buys that ticket out of here and straight to heaven. Or is it hell?

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

You make quick work of his clothes, anxious to reveal all that solid, gritty muscle, run your hands over the lines and get lost in the feel. He moves slower over you, fluttery fingers and tentative touches till your writhing a little underneath him, worked up at the thought and exactly what he wants. It bothers you, way back in the back of your mind, back in the spot that won’t be useful again until at least tomorrow, just how easy it is for him to reduce you to this. Heedy, pliable. Yeah, it  _ bothers  _ you. Ha!

 

His mouth draws patterns on your skin, works over your rib cage and loses minutes at your hip bones, moves and sucks till your vision is blurry with want and your muscles are bunching up under his tongue. He reaches you,  _ finally _ , moves himself slow and easy at first, riding out the first few bucks your hips throw out at the sensitivity before pressing more firmly, pushing waves of heat up your spine to settle in the base of your skull. Hot, heavy and building. Your fingers drag across the sheets, quietly searching for purchase, pulling at the urge to disappear in his hair but restrained by how nice his knot is, the tone of his look when he pulled it up and tied it neat. Yeah, the tone of the look when he inched his mouth towards you, completely unobstructed view of those plush, wet lips. The cold press of fingers slide along your heated skin snaps you back to the present, affords you a little “oh” as they pull in just the right way, those lips curving over your clit, working in tandem, slowing everything down to just feeling. He hums like he's enjoying it just as much as your are, and well, he sure does know his way around. His very sure fingers and ever surer tongue work together till your thrumming with the energy, till gravity tilts and realigns, till soft whimpers climb higher and your toes lose feeling completely. Bucky watches you come back to yourself, gives you a lazy grin like you just awarded him an A+ and you probably did, certainly would if he asked. Damn. 

 

He slow-slips up you, nuzzles into your neck, gathers up your legs and hips, fingers pressing deep into the skin and waits. Seconds tick by to the sounds of your heavy breathing, coiling the feeling till it's tight enough to snap your spine before you nudge, a soft taptap with your heels that pulls him towards you. He gathers himself onto his wrists, pulls up deliberate till he's eye level and then watches as he pushes into you, sees you fight to keep your eyes open and locked on his. You don’t miss the small, self-satisfied smirk he buries. His hips roll, forward and up, curling your toes in the process. He carries on, uses the momentum to find a rhythm that quickly dissolves the last of your brain cells.His fingers inch up over your collarbone, settle heavy on the base of your neck and you don’t say anything, just raise your eyebrows a little.  _ Do it. _

 

That does it, splinters the remainder of his control, eyes turned dark with the weight of your trust and his fingers find purchase, slip up the side of your neck and rest at the crease of your jaw. His hips start a pace, rolling and steady, pushing your hips up off the bed with the movement, his hand securing the rest of you down. He shifts forward, puts a bit more weight onto his hand and you instinctively gasp for the air your being denied. Lungs making slow, dragging sounds as you relax into it, losing minutes over the way his thumb is wedged under your jaw or the deep thump _ thump _ of your heart that's dancing over your skin. There’s a greyish fog rolling in, tugging at the edges of your vision and your senses dart in opposite directions, the press of his thighs against the backs of yours, the very firm, fullness of him pressed so deep inside you is almost too much. His fingers loosen enough to let in a few sharp gasps, wrapping tight again and his legs start to quiver a little, his hips grinding hard into you, perfectly angled so that he's dragging along that sweet spot inside you with every pull. You can hear his breaths get hoarse over the blood pounding in your ears, see the muscles up the length of his arm twitch and contract, love the way the angles looks, arm stretched out long and tight with you clamped underneath. The sight of it, the feel of it, the hollowing his hips are doing, it's all the perfect crescendo. You are consumed by the fire, narrowed down to the feel of skin on skin and your whole body lights up. Bones and everything solid disappear, leaving only fraught, now useless nerve endings and dancing flesh. Bucky tumbles down after you, losing his grip on your throat as he falls, shoulders hunching close to your head and  _ groans _ . 

 

The silence after is spent with small nudges and open-mouthed kisses, with long stares and quiet smiles. It's a while after before Bucky moves, before he shifts to the side so he tuck you in tight against him, fingers gripped over yours as the rest on his chest. It's a while before he speaks.

 

“Thank you.” He says, kissing your hairline, drawing lazy circles on your back. 

 

“For what?” You ask, voice a little scratchy in a way you enjoy. A lot.

 

“For  _ trusting  _ me.” He says, like it's obvious and it clicks, why he was so onboard, why he  _ really  _ enjoyed it. He likes that you trust him. It's the trust, not the power. Well, shit. Cue heart flutterings and cupid arrows. Not that you needed them, he’d had your heart from day 1.

 

“I love you, Bucky.” 

 

He smiles, toothy and wide, “I love you too, doll.”  


End file.
